


No Good Reason

by ApatheticRobots



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Implied/Reference Prisoner Abuse, Platonic Relationships, Post-The Transformers: Till All Are One (IDW), The World's Simplest Prison Break, mute character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:35:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28849161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApatheticRobots/pseuds/ApatheticRobots
Summary: “No good reason,” Windblade repeated. She stared at the datapad in her servos a little longer before setting it face down on her desk. “We should talk to him.”Wheeljack stared. Then looked away. “If you think that’s a good idea.”“I don’t,” she admitted. “But we have to do it anyway.”
Relationships: Starscream & Windblade (Transformers), Wheeljack & Windblade (Transformers)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 66





	No Good Reason

**Author's Note:**

> ok i guess im not allowed to make threats. still dont like mscott but advocating violence against real people is bad, kids.
> 
> anyways. i like windblade and think that she could have been written/utilized better. other than "i had the idea" i didnt really have a point for writing this like some of my other works. not beta'd, not really proofread. this feels like it should be part of a larger story but since i have an issue with writing Larger Stories it probably wont be. enjoy or dont and lemme know if anything needs to be tagged that isnt
> 
> oh also i never read any of the shit that happens after TAAO because i heard it was not very friendly to starscream stans so this totally pretends that doesnt exist by the by

Windblade knew she could do this. She'd been working under Starscream for enough time, at this point, that if she wasn't the most qualified mech to take his place, she didn't know who was. Rattrap decidedly didn't count, Ironhide hated politics, and Wheeljack was a diplomatic incident waiting to happen. So after Starscream's confession and subsequent imprisonment (and removal from office), she knew she was the best mech to take his place.

She lasted six months.

Six months of late nights and days without recharge, of attempting to satisfy each individual query of any mech who passed her by, of being shouted at and having to give orders she was morally against, and she was at her wits end.

And the only thing she could think to say (after it all came to a boil with the whole council thing Starscream had set up between Cybertron and it's colonies, each delegation coming to her and requesting it be disbanded and they be allowed to govern themselves) was "How in the _Pit_ did Starscream manage this??"

Wheeljack glanced up from the feedback reports he was working on sorting. He didn't know a thing about politics, bless his spark, but he could tell a good review from a bad one.

"I think," the scientist said, glancing down at the datapad in his servos, "he didn't."

"He did a better job than _me,"_ as much as it stung to admit such a thing. It was true. Despite his mistakes, despite his history, despite being _Starscream,_ he had been a better ruler of Cybertron than Windblade was pretty sure she could ever be.

"Not what I meant. I mean, I think while he might've been a good mech to be in charge, he wasn't really _managing._ Mechs who are managing don't go around talkin' to folks who aren't there an' havin' as many contingency plans as the guy did. So while he might'a been doing his job well, I don't think _he_ was doin' as well as he ever let you saw." 

She looked at him. "And he let _you_ see?"

"Not hardly. But he didn't pretend around me, not near as much anyway, an' that's the important part. 'Cause it let me pay attention and see what was really goin' on." He shrugged, setting another datapad in the "calling her wishy-washy" stack of feedback. That one was getting alarmingly tall. "Kinda hard for me to really hate him after that." 

"Have you visited him… since?"

Wheeljack scratched at his mask. "Nah," he said eventually. "Tried once, towards the beginning. Got turned away at the door. Told me he had another decade 'fore he'd be allowed visitors."

That… Didn't sound right. Windblade frowned. "There shouldn't be a limit on that," she said. "I don't remember that being one of the clauses during his trial."

Another shrug. "Can't recall. I wasn't paying a whole bunch of attention to the nitty-gritty of all that. Just kinda…"

"...Right." Windblade looked at the datapad in her servos without really seeing it. "Were you friends?" she asked, not looking at him. Whether it was because she didn't want to see his expression when he answered or because she just didn't have the energy was anyone's guess. 

"Well." He didn't continue.

"He certainly thought you were."

"He didn't lie to me," Wheeljack said, "if you can believe it. Not that we talked about much beyond my work, or the state of things, but if we ever did he didn't lie to me. Not once. An' with Screamer, if that doesn't make us friends or something like it, dunno what would." 

Windblade blinked. Then finally looked at him. "...He lies to everyone," she said, on principle.

"I know," Wheeljack's voice went soft. "But he never lied to me. Overheard him talking about it one time, one of those times when he'd be talkin' to thin air. He said 'well maybe you have to pick someone.' Like there was no good reason for it." There was something awfully close to wonderment in the scientist’s tone.

That didn’t sound like Starscream. The more Windblade thought about it, though, the more she thought maybe she’d never really known Starscream at all. She’d worked beside him for however long and hardly ever learned a thing about him. Which-- was not entirely her fault. He was very good at making sure people only saw him how he wanted them to. He hadn’t _wanted_ Windblade to get to know the real him. So she hadn’t.

“No good reason,” Windblade repeated. She stared at the datapad in her servos a little longer before setting it face down on her desk. “We should talk to him.”

Wheeljack stared. Then looked away. “If you think that’s a good idea.”

“I don’t,” she admitted. “But we have to do it anyway.”

If working alongside Starscream and then later being in charge had taught Windblade nothing else, it had taught her that sometimes _being in charge_ meant doing things you might not have wanted to. Making decisions you didn’t agree with.

So the next day she and Wheeljack took a trip to the prison complex.

The receptionist looked up at their approach. His optics narrowed when he saw Wheeljack, but widened when Windblade walked in beside him.

“Delegate,” the mech said, giving Windblade a respectful nod. She’d have preferred no title, but that would clearly not be an option, so instead she’d just settled for something a little less pompous than “Supreme Leader.” He set his datapad aside. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Yes,” she said, “we’re here to visit Starscream.”

Where they had been reaching for a different datapad, the receptionist’s servos went still. “You’re,” he said, vocalizer clicking as it reset. “I see.” There was a strange sort of tension in his tone.

Dots were rapidly connecting in Windblade’s processor, and she wasn’t sure she liked what she was coming up with. She stepped forward, and Wheeljack dutifully stepped back to allow her to take precedence. “Is that going to be a problem?” she asked, voice tight and wings high. She hated lording her position over anybody, but if what she thought was happening _was_ happening… Well, it had better not be.

“Um.” The receptionist fidgeted in his seat. “I, well.” He glanced at the clock, and his wince told Windblade he’d been hoping for an excuse of closed visiting hours or something. “That’s not… allowed.”

Windblade’s optics narrowed. “On whose authority?”

A flustered whine from the receptionist’s fans. “It’s just. Not allowed.”

Windblade stepped right up to the desk, raising her wings a little further. The receptionist shrunk back under her glare. “In case you’ve forgotten, _I_ am currently the highest authority on Cybertron.” And oh, that was such a Starscream thing to say. “And we are here to see Starscream.”

After a brief staring contest that Windblade was clearly winning, the receptionist’s vocalizer clicked and he lowered his head. “Um, okay.” He pressed a button on his desk, and the door that led to the elevator hub swung open. “I’ll… inform the guards you’re on your way down.”

If she’d cared a little more about really figuring out what was going on, she’d have told him not to, and made their arrival a surprise. But she didn’t trust any of this, and if anyone would give her a straight answer, it would be Starscream. So she grabbed Wheeljack’s arm to unceremoniously drag him along and get them down to his level as quickly as they were able.

The door closed with an ominous thud behind them.

“This is weird,” Wheeljack muttered, voicing what Windblade had been thinking since they arrived. “Hell, think security on Megatron was lighter.”

“I don’t like any of it. Stay on guard,” Windblade said just as quietly, letting go of his wrist as they got to the hall of elevators. She pressed the button on the one she knew would bring them down to the level Starscream was being kept on. (She’d checked the databases before they arrived.)

The elevator ride was even more tense, and when the doors opened, the two guards standing outside of it straightened up. A third came from further down the hall, standing before them. “I’m afraid I can’t allow you to go any further,” he said, voice firm. “Orders say the prisoner in question is not permitted any visitors for another decade.” The same excuse Wheeljack had mentioned them giving last time.

“And I’m overruling those orders,” Windblade said sharply. “First Delegate’s authority. All of you-- clear the hall. _Now.”_

The guards hesitated. One of them clearly wanted to say something, but the other jerked his head sharply, and the three shuffled into the elevator, leaving the hall empty besides Windblade and Wheeljack.

It was, besides the sound of the elevator ascending and the constant low-level hum of electronics, completely silent.

Which… immediately set off alarm bells.

  
Because this was where _Starscream_ was being kept. Starscream. As in, the loudest mech anyone had ever met. Who never stopped talking. And it wasn’t as though he was being kept in a soundproof room. For all the security, for all the solitary confinement of the level being completely empty besides him (which… was also a new development. It had not been solitary when Windblade had visited immediately after his imprisonment), they _should_ have been able to hear him. Even from here.

Windblade hurried down the hall. Wheeljack silently followed.

The scene in the cell was not what Windblade had been expecting. Best case, he was just recharging or something. Worst case he wasn’t there at all and they’d been trying to hide it from her with all the excuses. 

But there he sat. Seated on the floor at the back of the cell, knees pulled up to his chest, plating scuffed, and watching Windblade and Wheeljack with narrowed optics.

And not. Saying. Anything.

“Starscream,” Windblade said after several moments of awkward silence. “How… have you been?”

There was no sarcastic reply. No _well, in prison, so about as well as you’d think._ No defensive _why are you asking??_ Nothing but Starscream continuing to stare at them, plating creaking slightly where his arms tightened where they were wrapped around his legs.

She huffed. As weird as it was, it was also starting to get on her nerves. He just had a talent for it. “Aren’t you going to say _anything?”_

“Windblade,” Wheeljack said, all quiet horror. “I don’t think he can.”

The flickers of annoyance that had started to run through her lines at Starscream’s defiant ignorance of her attempts at communication disappeared instantly, quickly replaced with something that made her feel very cold and very ill all at once. Windblade looked back at him, noting his wide-opticed look. “What?”

“Look at his neck,” he said, even softer than before. “Just-- look.”

She glanced back at where Starscream was seated in his cell. Apparently noticing her critical gaze, his wings hiked up, and he quickly raised a servo to cover his throat.

Not before Windblade saw the jagged scarring there, though.

The sickening feeling in her chassis only worsened. Something had happened. Without her knowing, and most certainly against her wishes. “Wheeljack,” she said, voice tight, not looking away from Starscream’s hunched form. “Keep watch.”

“What?”

“Just make sure the guards don’t come back,” she hissed, stepping through the energy bars. Starscream pressed further back against the wall at her approach. She raised her servos, holding her palms out. “It’s okay,” she said, as soft as she could make it while still being heard. “I’m not gonna do anything. I promise. I just wanna see.”

This wasn’t right. _None_ of this was right. While he had every reason to be wary of her, the outright barely-concealed _fear_ in his optics should _not_ have been there. It had only been a few _months,_ had so much really gone wrong in that time?

After several frozen moments of him searching her expression, he apparently found something he liked, because he slowly let his wings fall. And he lowered his servo. 

  
It was even worse up close. While Windblade did not have much experience with injuries, especially ones of such an awful caliber, she knew what a wound that didn’t heal right looked like. And this one had clearly been left to fester without medical attention for far too long. She realized, with the ill feeling only growing worse, that there were flecks of rust around the corrugated metal.

“What _happened?”_ she whispered, horrified. Obviously, there was no response. His uncharacteristic nervousness was briefly replaced with completely in-character deadpan irritation, though.

At least he wasn’t _completely_ gone. It probably shouldn’t have been as much of a relief as it was.

“I’m sorry,” she said, kneeling in front of him and reaching out to set a servo on his arm. He looked at her incredulously. “This-- I never meant for this to happen. This _shouldn’t_ have happened. I’m going to fix this.” If anyone had the power to do so, it was her. 

Except all her power involved going through official channels. That was one thing she would never have that had made Starscream so good at getting things done-- connections. She couldn’t bribe or manipulate mechs into doing what she wanted if her life depended on it. It wasn’t in her nature. But Starscream had been doing it since he was sparked. If he wanted something done swiftly, he knew _exactly_ who to talk to to make it happen.

Windblade did not have the liberty of time. Things would only get worse if she left them, especially now that they knew _she_ knew of what was going on. Or, at least, the barest minimum. There was still a lot she _didn’t_ know. But she didn’t need any more evidence that something was wrong with all of this than the scar across Starscream’s throat, right over his vocalizer.

“Wheeljack,” she called. The scientist poked his head into the cell. “Can you short the power?”

“From here?” He squinted at her, then at the bars, then at the cells around them. She could practically see the gears in his head turning. “Give me five kliks.” And he disappeared again.

Starscream stared at her.

“I’ve been trying to do things right,” she said. “The way you _didn’t._ I told myself when I got elected that I would learn from you. I’d be better. But I’m starting to think there might be a pretty good reason you ran things the way you did.” She stood, offering him a sevo up. “Cybertronians seem determined to ruin things for themselves at any opportunity. The war’s supposed to be over, but everyone’s acting like you’re still right in the thick of it.” When he just kept staring, she bared her teeth a bit, the same way she’d seen him do. “I don’t know what I’m doing, and I need your help.”

He reached up and took her servo. Just as the lights flickered and died, and the energy bars died with them.

Windblade hauled Starscream to his pedes, a brief flare of alarm rushing through her as she noticed the way he stumbled, and the way his optics flickered. _Underfueled,_ her processor provided. 

“Okay, so, that’s that,” Wheeljack said, emerging from one of the other cells. “We got a few minutes before they manage to fix it. So, uh, you got a plan beyond this? ‘Cause the elevator’s not gonna work while the power’s out, and I don’t think they’re gonna be very happy when it comes back on. Doubt they’ll just let us leave.” 

Right. She… hadn’t thought that far ahead. Starscream clearly realized such, because he leveled her with such a weary look it was hard to believe he’d seemed so fearful earlier.

“I, uh.” She frowned. “Hm. Good question.”

Rolling his optics, Starscream tugged on her servo, and when she glanced over, he pointed at the window high on the wall of his cell. Too small for any of them, especially him or Wheeljack, but… Well. That could be changed. 

For a moment, Windblade was struck with the ridiculousness of _the mech in charge_ needing to break someone out of prison.

She really hated Cybertron sometimes.

“Okay.” She let go of Starscream’s servo, instead reaching up to draw her sword from its place at her side. “...This can only go so wrong.”

As it turned out, a blade made of pure energy made for a remarkably good tool to cut through solid stone. The result was a jagged hole in the side of the cell. Sunlight streamed through, spilling over the walls and floor with far more intensity than they had before, and Windblade heard the slightest whine from Starscream’s engine.

This was no doubt the most open air he’d seen since he’d arrived. Windblade cursed herself for not realizing what _life in prison_ meant in the grand scheme of things, especially for a flier.

She tucked her sword away. “Okay,” she said again. “Uh. Wheeljack, you can… hang onto me, I guess.” She stepped forward to jump from the impromptu doorway and transform, but her arm was grabbed and she was dragged back before she could. “What-- Starscream?”

Scowling at her, he let go, gesturing at his wings. When she just stared in confusion, he rolled his optics. Then held out his arm. There was a slight creak as the plating tensed, and she saw it rattle slightly, but didn’t move beyond that. Her spark sank at the realization of what the display meant, both in general and for their escape.

“Your t-cog,” she said, and he nodded. “Slag.”

Slag indeed.

“I’ll probably be okay if I just jump,” Wheeljack muttered, peering out. “It’s not that far a fall. Couple dozen meters at most. Then Screamer can hang onto you…?”

“Might work,” she muttered. “Are your thrusters online?”

Starscream shook his head. Damnit. What of his systems _hadn’t_ they disabled??

That ruled out him flying alone. Which… no, actually, she still didn’t want to go with Wheeljack’s plan. “Okay,” she said. “We’re gonna do this one at a time. So no one gets hurt. I’ll fly Wheeljack down, then come back and get you, okay?” She couldn’t carry the both of them at the same time, her frame just wasn’t strong enough, but on their own it would be fine. Probably. At least, like Wheeljack had said, the fall wasn’t very far.

“Whatever we’re gonna do, gotta do it quick,” Wheeljack said. The lights gave an ominous flicker. 

“Right.” Windblade jumped out, transforming as she did, and hovered just outside the exit. Only hesitating for a second, Wheeljack clambered onto her frame, and she circled down to the (blessedly empty, probably thanks to the early hour) street below. He slid off, and she immediately soared back up to the hole in the side of the building once he was clear.

Starscream, standing in the gaping entryway, stared at her.

“Well? We don’t have all day here.” 

She really wished she could tell what was going on in his head. But as good as she’d gotten at reading mechs, she had no hope of ever figuring _him_ out. Just as the lights clicked back on, he climbed out of the jagged exit and onto her frame. Much less hesitantly than Wheeljack had.

Of course. He was a flier, what reason did he have to be afraid of heights? Even if he couldn’t _currently_ fly, it wasn’t a concern that had been instilled into his frame.

Just as Windblade heard the faint sound of pedesteps in the furthest reaches of her audials, Starscream had a secure hold on her frame and she was circling down to where Wheeljack waited. As soon as they landed Starscream stepped away, and she transformed back to root. There was a surprised shout from high above them.

“Right,” she said. “We should probably go. Like, now.”

“We’re not far from my apartment,” Wheeljack mused. “One I bought, not the one I was given closer to the hub. Doubt they’ll think to look there, least not immediately.”

And hopefully, by the time they _did_ think to look there, Windblade had found sufficient evidence for their mistreatment of a prisoner and gotten the whole thing well and shut down. She supposed she might not have technically _needed_ evidence, not if she just wanted to exercise her authority and get things _done._ But she wasn’t Starscream. That was the whole point.

“Lead the way.”

It wasn’t anything magnificent. Two rooms, a set of washracks. Kitchen area, den area with a vidscreen set on one wall. Decidedly less extravagant than most of the accommodations offered to higher ranking officials. But it wasn’t bad.

The first thing Starscream did upon them entering was stare at the aforementioned washracks for a solid minute.

Windblade looked at him, took note of the scuffs and grime dirtying his plating, the fading paint at the edges of his limbs, the hopeful twitching of his wings. Then gently tapped his shoulder to get his attention. “You can go wash up if you want,” she said, gesturing towards the door. “You don’t need our permission or anything.”

He squinted at her for a moment, suspicious, like he was waiting for her to rescind the offer. When she didn’t, he quickly turned and darted away. Probably to make sure she didn’t get the chance.

As soon as the door was closed and locked and the sound of rushing solvent had kicked on, Windblade turned to Wheeljack. She lowered her voice and hoped that under the noise, they wouldn’t be heard. “Something very, very bad happened in there,” she said. “Beyond just whatever they did to his voice. I _know_ something happened, but I have no way to prove it,” she continued, and gave him a look full of intent. 

“I may be more engineering focused, but I know my way around remote hacking,” Wheeljack said, and she found herself all the more thankful for his company. “It’ll be easier if I got someone in security on my side, though. Mind draggin’ Ironhide into this? Or you wanna keep it between us?”

She frowned. The more people who knew, the more trouble there would be, but Wheeljack had a point. A mech directly involved with the prison system would have a lot more answers than just one scientist digging where he didn’t belong. “If you can get his help without explaining why exactly you need it that’d be great,” she decided. “But if you need to tell him what’s going on to get him to actually work with you that’s fine. I don’t think he’s a cruel mech, even if he’s a little brash sometimes.” He never seemed like the sort who would agree with this kind of thing.

“He ain’t. He does what he’s gotta do, but…” Wheeljack sighed. “This wasn’t necessary. They didn’t _need_ t’ do this. An’ I wish I didn’t think it made sense.” 

The rushing of solvent clicked off. Windblade glanced at her chronometer, mildly surprised. For all she knew of Starscream’s vanity, he’d only been in there for a few minutes, tops. She’d expected him to take advantage of the freedom and not to see him for an hour at least. 

“I’ll get started on that,” Wheeljack said as Starscream walked out, drips of solvent still clinging to his (now much cleaner) frame. “Need to stop by the lab. Anyone asks, I’ll claim I don’t know a thing. Ain’t that great a liar but I can sure as hell act like an idiot when I gotta.” He gave Windblade a nod, set a servo on Starscream’s shoulder for just a moment, then turned and left.

Starscream looked at her curiously.

“He’s going to go try and find some concrete evidence to use against the prison,” Windblade explained, and she could see the way Starscream tensed. “Don’t worry. It’ll be okay. No matter what happens, you won’t have to go back. I promise.”

He narrowed his optics at her, then mimed writing something down. She pulled a datapad from her subspace and handed it over.

After a few moments of typing, he held it up. _Why would you help me?_

Windblade bit her lip. “Well, I do need your help,” she said. “I don’t know how to run a planet. I thought I could, I thought what I knew from watching you and working with you would be enough, but I don’t. I’m not good at this. But it wasn’t just that, I didn’t only get you out because I wanted something.” She sighed. “It doesn’t matter who you are or what you did. _No one_ should be mistreated. Not like that.”

Some more typing. _You didn’t know?_

She shook her head. “If I did I would’ve stopped it. Done something sooner. But I…” She sighed again, and even knowing the gloating that would follow, continued; “I was too trusting. I thought you were crazy to be so paranoid of everyone around you, but you were right. I trusted that they would be fair, and I let them be. I know now that I really shouldn’t have.”

_It always was one of your biggest flaws._ She couldn’t read the expression on his face. _And yet you trusted_ **_them_ ** _before you trusted_ **_me._ **

“I know,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry. I should have checked in sooner. And I know sorry doesn’t fix what happened, but I really, really am. And I swear to you, I’ll make it better. Whatever I have to do to fix it, I’ll find a way.”

_I suppose I’m grateful you checked in at all. And that you’re admitting you weren’t cut out for the job and deferring to me is fairly novel. It could have been worse,_ he smirked. _They didn’t manage to break me_ **_that_ ** _much. As much as they might have tried._ His expression went a little dour, and he pulled the datapad down to continue. _They did try. Very hard. If they were willing to go so far in half a year, I shudder to think what they might have done given more time._

  
So things had been worse. She _hated_ being right.

“Oh-- you needed fuel,” she said suddenly, standing and heading over to the kitchen. It was halfway an effort to stop herself from imagining all the various things the prison officials might've been willing to try to break Starscream's spirit. “Just sit tight, I’ll take care of it. And I’ll call a medic, too. Velocity was back planetside last I heard, I trust her. She won’t ask any odd questions. And-- she was from Caminus, like me, so she won’t not help just because you were a Decepticon or anything.” Windblade was fully aware she was rambling at this point. She also could not find it in herself to care. The full weight of _everything_ that rested on her shoulders was starting to get a little too heavy to bear.

“I think--” she paused, staring at the softly glowing cube of Energon she’d just poured. “I think I might’ve ruined everything,” she said, very quiet. “You worked so hard to make Cybertron good again. To fix it. And I think I ruined it all.”

A huff of static, undoubtedly a sigh, and a few moments later Windblade felt a servo settle on her shoulder. Starscream shoved his datapad in front of her.

_You didn’t ruin anything,_ it read. _It’s only been six months. Even if you might have not done_ **_well,_ ** _there’s nothing you could have done in that time to make everything completely unrecoverable._ She could practically hear the smirk as the words continued. _I put too many failsafes into place for that. Just say the word and I’ll start bringing them into play._

Because of course he’d still been scheming, even when he was at his most honest. It was just the kind of mechanism he was. And now, after everything, Windblade was starting to realize it wasn’t necessarily _bad._

She gave him a wavering smile. “Not yet,” she said. “Let’s get you back into proper shape before we start working on the planet, huh?”

He rolled his optics. _If you insist._ Then paused. Leaned over the datapad so she couldn’t see what he was typing, and shove it into her servos. When she took it, he grabbed the cubes she’d poured and started on them. _I am grateful for your assistance. Truly. And I will never be able to say it out loud, not even if I were physically able, but thank you._

Windblade looked up at him. He held the fuel in front of his face, probably to attempt to obscure the light dusting of pink across his cheeks. It only marginally worked.

“You won’t have to say it out loud,” she said, “I understand. And, Starscream?”

He looked at her. 

“You’re welcome.”


End file.
